


Warprize

by kewltie



Series: Magnetic [13]
Category: K-pop, Super Junior
Genre: Captive, Intrigue, M/M, War theme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 01:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11521515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kewltie/pseuds/kewltie
Summary: To the victor goes the spoils.





	1. Terms of Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Moving some old stuff from AFF to AO3.

”One more thing,” Hyukjae says and then pauses, leaning back against his chair with his hands folded across his stomach and his eyes intently focused on the man in front of him whose quill has halted over the treaty paper.  
  
Several loud murmurs of disbelief break through the ranks of Emperor Namsun’s courtiers and there’s a shift of uneasiness in the air as he hears the stir he had cause ripples across the room to the Tenuan's Ministers, soldiers, and all the way down to the servants attending them in this meeting.  
  
"I want Donghae," he continues, unperturbed and watches Emperor Namsun, sitting across from him and on the other end of the table, stiffens up at the name and he drops his quill beside the treaty paper.  
  
There are outrage gasps and voices starting to rise among Tenuans in protests but Hyukjae remains unbothered by it, he just snaps a finger.  
  
Then, he hears the sound of several swords unsheathing around them and the hitches of breath as the courtiers spot the flash of a blade from his guards. The Tenuans soldiers, standing behinds the Emperor, steps forward then back down as if unsure if they should rise up to the challenge but all it takes is Emperor Namsun raising a hand up in silence and the soldiers drop back to their positions and the voices quickly dying down.  
  
Hyukjae also gives a signal, the forefinger raise and then back down, and his owns carefully sheathes back their sword.  
  
The Hall goes back to it unsettling quiet but the atmosphere remains stifles and strain between them since Hyukjae’s had dropped his condition on them but Tenuans can’t afford another battle. Hyukjae knows that, and they know that.  
  
Emperor Namsun looks directly at Hyukjae unflinchingly, king to king, and Hyukjae takes a moment to notice the greying at the temple, the shadow beneath the Emperor’s eyes, and he appears to have aged at least five years older since the last time Hyukjae had seen him at the Battle of Musain and had forced him into surrender after the Emperor had lost grounds and ten thousand men in a single bout.  
  
Hyukjae’s memories of Emperor Namsun was a proud man sitting upon a throne of gold and blood of the countries he had ruthlessly conquered and assimilate into his vast empire. At ten, he had seemed untouchable to Hyukjae and no matter how people had tried to bring him down they were all unmercifully wiped out and Hyukjae had to quietly stew in his hatred and anger as he watched the Emperor took everything from Hyukjae, his life, his people, and his country.  
  
Even now as he looks upon the worn out and beaten down Emperor, Hyukjae can’t forget that this is the same man who conquered two-thirds of the Helon Continent and kept it that way for twenty years till Hyukjae came and decimate his claim to it.  “No,” the Emperor says flatly, steel cold resolve meets Hyukjae.  
  
Hyukjae smiles, not surprise at all, and leans forward till he can rest his arms on the table. “This is not a bargain or a trade, your Majesty, you lost the war and now you pay the consequence of it. There is no negotiation. You either acquiesce to my demand or,” he pauses to look around at the wary eyes of the Tenuans before returning to meet the Emperor’s, “—or we shall continue to fight it out on the battlefield till one of us give.”  
  
The Emperor’s eyes flash angrily. “You already have five of my border states, the Port Aisalan in the Treune Sea and Port Vera in the Corine Penusala, control of our main trade routes, and annual tributes, so what more do I have to give?” he snaps, his fist pounds against the table, shaking the inkwell and quill and paper flutters lightly before lying still again.  
  
"I let you keep your throne and your kin will continue to inherit it as long as your bloodline is alive, your people remain unshackle, your military force untouched, and I won’t ever intervene in your rule. Compare to what you normally demand from your conquered states, I been very generous haven’t I?" Hyukjae asks, raising an eyebrow imperiously.  
  
The Emperor nods stiffly.  
  
"All I ask now is Donghae," Hyukjae says, letting his eyes glance past the Emperor’s shoulder to a crowd of high-ranking courtiers and members of the royal family, and somewhere in there is his prize, quiet but not unnoticed, never unnoticed to Hyukjae.  
  
There’s a quiet murmur rippling through the mass again but Hyukjaes staunchly ignore them. The Tenuans can make a fuss all they want but they can’t afford another war, he knows that and they know that.  
  
"He is my son," Emperor Namsun says, clenching his hands tightly.  
  
"Yes," Hyukjae says, tilting his head in acknowledgment, "but you have several and all I ask is one in particular. Many lives were lost in your fail campaign against me, and how many more are you willing to risk for one person? Because I assure you that I won’t be as forgiving this time around once I force you into another surrender and you will surrender." He directs his grim smile at the crowd of Tenuans.  
  
The Tenuans quiet down to deathly hush, a look of anxiety and fear flickers across their face.  
  
Hyukjae turns his head back to the Emperor, whose knuckles had gone white and his face ashy grey. “So what would it be, your son or your people?” he asks, laying down his ultimatum.  
  
The Emperor looks down at the unsigned treaty and then glances at the quill beside it. He glances back up at Hyukjae, and it’s the first time Hyukjae had ever seen the Emperor so unguarded, the face staring at him is in turmoil—his duty as a king to his country warring with his love for his son.  
  
Hyukjae almost feels guilty about it for putting him in that position. Almost.  
  
"I," Emperor Namsun starts, looking torn.  
  
"Father, it is alright," a voice clear as glass cuts into their conversation.  "I’ll go."  
  
Hyukjae’s eyes and everyone else in the entire Hall immediately is drawn to a young dark-haired man walking up toward the table from behind the Emperor’s seat.  
  
With a sword straps to his side, a common white shirt, brown trousers, and black leather boots, he stands on the other side of the table, between Hyukjae and the Emperor, and looks nothing like the Tanus’ Seventh Prince that he suppose to be or resemble the wealth and power that he had grown up in but Donghae has always gone against current just because he can. He was more of a common soldier than a pompous spoiled prince and that’s why the Tenuans adore him.  
  
"Donghae," King Namsun says, his voice laden with sorrow and regret.  
  
"It is an honor to be of service to my country," Donghae says, lowering his head in reverence.  
  
Hyukjae could almost hear the sigh of relief among Tenuans because as much as they adore their prince, they want to save their own hide more.  
  
"If that is your wish," the Emperor says, his voice breaking slightly before turning to Hyukjae. "I will sign the treaty now if you have nothing else to add." He picks up the quill again and dips into the inkwell, pausing to wait expectantly for Hyukjae.  
  
Hyukjae smiles but it holds no joy. “There’s nothing else I want.” And as he says that, his eyes drift toward Donghae who raises his head and glances Hyukjae’s way.  
  
Their eyes meet, and he’s staring right at Donghae’s unflinching eyes, and Hyukjae has to hold back a bitter smile because his prince is still brazen as ever, even when he’s staring down at the person that is holding his fate in the palm of his hand.  
  
Donghae abruptly jerks his head away but not before making a disgusted face in Hyukjae’s direction and that’s where Hyukjae lets a smile creep through his defenses because even when Hyukjae feel an unfettered hate toward him, Hyukjae can’t help the overgrowing fondness for Donghae taking over once again as if he was ten again and Donghae had offered his hand to Hyukjae and declared him as his best friend.  
  
He finds himself equally dreading and waiting expectantly for the day Donghae would be his.


	2. Belligo

It’s not the first word he heard in Corinthian but it is the one that he is most staunchly familiar with. Much like a brand carved onto his soul, the word soon comes to define his entire existent in Corinth.  
  
Belligo.  
  
Bel-li-go, they called him.  
  
   
  
\---  
  
   
  
The first time heard of it was upon his initial arrival in the Harbor of Eleis and between the myriad of languages that flood his ears and foreign faces of men and women of Corinth, their skin bronzed by the sun and nothing like his[3], Donghae didn't pay much attention to way people were staring at him and addressing him something other than his royal title, a prince of Tenua.  
  
It wasn't until they reach the capital city of Corinth, Pleides, that Donghae took noticed of the curious looks sent his way and though Donghae wasn't still use to the sharp and coarseness of the Corinthian’s tongue, the language fell deaf on his ears and he often has to rely on interpreter to understand, but he was able to realize that overuse of Belligo was in reference to him.  
  
   
  
\---  
  
   
  
“Belligo,” Sehun says, sighing deeply from behind Donghae, “please don’t wander off again without me or the High King would have my head. You’re still unfamiliar with this place and I don’t want you to get lost.”  
  
Donghae jerks to a stop and swivels around, hands balling into a fist at side. “Stop calling me that!” he snaps, glaring heatedly at Sehun. “Either address me by my given name, my title or simply Your Highness would do but do not call me by such a word again. I am not a Corinthian, I do not want to be referred such a way and least of all in my enemy’s tongue.”  
  
Sehun frowns, scratching the side of the face warily.  “I’m sorry, Belligo, but the moment you agree to come with us you lost your right to be called anything else. You’re no longer a Tenuan prince let alone a citizen of Tenua. You’re a Corinthian from here onward and you will wear that title to your grave,” he tells Donghae, almost apologetically and Donghae bites out a frustrated groan.  
  
   
  
\---  
  
   
  
Donghae carefully flips through the heavy tome, finger dragging down each page in search of a single entry. For nine days, he’d combed through the entire library of the eastern wing of the palace for anything that can help him cleared up the mystery that had plagued him since his arrival on Corinth and he’d found it in an old book that had seen better day, but one of the few books that is written in Tenua and speak of the subject he is interested in.    
  
Upon reaching page three hundred sixteen pages of the book, Donghae sees it right away and when he read through it, word by word his blood freezes. He violently flings the book down onto the floor and hears it land with a loud thump upon but he can’t hear or see anything but the haze of red.  
  
His vision blurs and his breathing heavy as he clutches at the edge of the table. The words, printed in Tenua and as obvious and cleared as day, read: Belligo, a title used in ancient time where war custom dictated that a spoil is acquired upon achieving victory; a prize of war.    
  
   
  
\---  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
It is strange to Donghae, who is used to his father’s grander of a court and the way he played those under his thumbs, letting them fight and make a fool out of each other for his amusement and every decision he made were made in front of his courtiers, almost a spectacle in the way the problems and issues of the kingdom were presented to him and the gaggles of courtiers that would gather and watch with bated breath and anticipation as the king decided the fate nations and men. Donghae’s father made an entertainment out of his rule. Donghae didn’t quite understand it but accepted it anyway because that was how it was always been done.  
  
But even across several oceans, something remained the same, the courtiers in Corinth are similar to ones back home. They all had too much say and secrets worth dying to keep, and everybody else business is their business and they were forever ambitious to gained favor from the king.  
  
Donghae had always hated the mind games and charade played out in the Court of Tenua but here in Corinth, he took comfort in the familiar and expected. The nobility of Corinth wasn’t as glamorous and showy as Tenua, often peacocking over each other for the king’s favor, but the polite veneer they painted across their face as they cut you down with piercing words were very much the same and every seemingly generous action hide some sort of hidden intent that Donghae is always cautious to accept.  
  
It was something he had learned the hard way in Tenua, and though he may prefer the act of shedding blood and sweat on the battlefield over the court’s intrigue any day, he knows that here it is his weapons. Instead of a sword and shield, his words and smiles are sharpened and Donghae would use it to his best advantage.  
  
The Court was a different kind of battlefield altogether, where people wield words instead of swords, and that perhaps is even more lethal because just a few words can launch a war and lead thousands of men to their death but a sword can only strike down a one man at a time.    
  
He may not be as good at handling the courtiers like his siblings back home—Donghae would often steer clear of it, refusing to even take part of the pretense—but he is a Tenuan Prince and he was taught well enough to navigate the minefield that is the court’s politics without embarrassing himself, or so he had thought.  
  
The banquet hall is lavishly decorated with draperies and feverish colors. Lights  A hefty amount of food from all corners of the Corinth filled up the large banquet table and people of all level of the court either find their way to the ballroom floor, scatter across the vast hall in groups for a next piece of gossip and drama, or clamoring for an ear of the High King.    
  
It’s the Autumn Light Festival in Pleides and the Palace is seized in a state of celebration, and Donghae is caught right in it.  
  
Donghae would often find himself the center of these festivities, not of his own choosing. Never of his own choosing. Maybe it was his paleness of his skin that looked like it hadn’t seen any sunlight under the harsh winter of Tenua, maybe it was his inability to speak the native tongue of this country, or maybe it was just that he was simply a Tenuan’s captive in the land of his enemy that made him a spectacle in the eyes of the Court.  
  
Either way, people would often crowd around him and chatter insistently in Corinthian, eyes scrutinizing him as if he was a doll propped up for their enjoyment and to dissect.  
  
Nobody talks to him, they talk around him. Donghae exists in a state of perpetual air—they all know he is there but nobody acknowledges it.  
  
Seated between Sehun on one side and a small boisterous man with an enormous red hat, decked out in rare feathers and gemstones that lined the rim of his hat and a heavy set of robes that are worth their weight in gold, and his fawning lady companion on the other side, Donghae is annoyed.  
  
The courtier flicks a hand toward Donghae with a jeering smile as he talks to his lady, pointedly staring at him with no regard to decorum.  
  
Donghae never quite understood the etiquette of the Court but even he can recognize when he was being openly mocked.  
  
Donghae grits his teeth, biting back his tongue.  
  
The man is blatantly pointing at him now, finger inches away from Donghae’s face as he gestures wildly and entertains his lady in raucous laughter, using the fact that Donghae can't even follow let alone keep up with their conversation to call the man out on it.  
  
Donghae deliberately puts down the spoon on a bowl of soup and turns toward the man. “Do that again and I’ll break your fingers,” he warns, masking the heat of his words with a bright sunny smile on his face.  
  
He hears Sehun snorting next to him as the two courtiers titter at him as if he had just said something terribly witty and continue on with their chatter, their fast-moving coarse Corinthian washes over him like a jagged knife piercing him with every word.  
  
What complete disrespect, Donghae fumes.  
  
The man draws closer, the large ornament on his hat brushes Donghae’s head, his hand touching Donghae’s upper arm as he speaks over Donghae to Sehun this time and Sehun apathetically responds back.  
  
Donghae’s precarious patience snaps.  
  
He shoves the man away back, knocking off the irritating and pretentious hat, that had been bothering him all night, at it. The hat falls on the table and onto the plates of food and a piece of hair drops into the bowl of soup in front of them.  
  
A horrifying silent descends on them and all the eyes nearby are zeroes in on them, especially to the patches of hairlessness on the man’s skull. With receding hairline and empty span of space between spots of hair, Donghae begins to understand the need for a hat as the snickering around them starts to come in.    
  
The man’s face blooms an angry red, picking up his dirty wet ostentatious hat and places back on his head as the piece of wig, that had fallen off along with it, continues to drown in Donghae’s soup. The man starts to rail against Donghae and the words that he snarls, Donghae doesn’t need to know the meaning behind it to know that it’s vicious and cruel. He is for once grateful he doesn’t understand it because his hand is itching to do something about it.  
  
Donghae glances back to Sehun to shoot him a glare as if to say you’re supposed to stop me from doing these things and Sehun, the bastard, simply shrugs. Donghae is once again reminded that Sehun is Donghae’s minder, not his guardian, his defender, or his friend.  
  
In Corinth, Donghae has no one. He’s truly alone in this foreign land, with enemies on all side and he just put himself in an awful situation.      
  
The man shoves his face right into Donghae, spitting venom and not letting Donghae a word in edgewise as every neighboring eye watch the scene attentively, not bothering to even put a stop to it.    
  
Donghae’s annoyance is fraying and he starts to rise, with all the attention to effectively shut the courtier’s mouth up but a hand drops on his shoulders, holding him down with a force so strong that Donghae stills for a moment. Donghae tries to jerk out of the grip but when he looked up he sees the High King’s face peering down at him.  
  
Donghae opens his mouth to say something but Hyukjae squeeze his shoulders and Donghae shuts it with a snap.    
  
Hyukjae turns his attention toward the man and exchanges a quick remark to the courtier, voice calm and subdued but it’s enough to make the man pales, face ashen and retreating back into his seat as he looks upon Hyukjae as though he saw the devil in front of him.  
  
Donghae doesn’t even have time to process what’s going on when Hyukjae drags Donghae out of his seat by his wrist and away from the crowd.  
  
Donghae casts a helpless glance at Sehun for any assistance but Sehun only gives him an amused wave instead as Donghae stumbles along behind Hyukjae.    
  
Hyukjae leads him through thick velvet blue curtains that hang on the entrance that divide the banquet hall from the garden outside. They pass the guards station there with an acknowledging nod from Hyukjae and they step right onto the balcony and the clamor of the party dies as the curtain falls back in place, giving away to the cool air and the quiet hum of nature. The balcony that oversees the immense courtyard and the garden outside is empty except for the two of them there.  
  
Hyukjae abruptly lets Donghae go and braces himself against the railing, putting a heavy distance between them a reverse of their earlier position and with is back to Donghae. It leaves a cold impression on Donghae and somehow it stabs at him more than Sehun’s careless shrug ever did.  
  
The silence stretches between, awkward and heavy and then Hyukjae shoulders start to shake, his entire body quivering underneath some terrible pressure and Donghae braces himself for the onslaught that will come from Hyukjae.  
  
He curls his hands at his side, reading to defend himself but the noise that breaks the silence is—shocking. Clutching at his stomach and bending over, Hyukjae falls over himself in ruckus laughter much to Donghae’s gaping mouth.    
  
“So that’s what was underneath his ugly hat,” the High King says fluidly in Tenuan, once he finally regained control of himself and can finally piece together entire sentence together without breaking into laughter again.    
  
“You’re laughing,” Donghae seethes. He doesn’t find the entire situation funny at all. It was demeaning and offensive to him.    
  
Hyukjae faces him again and his eyes twinkling madly. “Admit it, it was a little funny,” he responds, lips twitching.  
  
Donghae frowns, folding his arms across his chest. He thinks of the courtier’s flushed face, the balding head, and the wig in his soup and he. Okay, maybe it was a little funny but—he shakes his head. “I don’t find it a laughing matter,” he says stubbornly.  
  
Hyukjae just flashes him grin as though he can see through Donghae’s façade and shrugs. “Alright,” he acquiesces and walks past Donghae to the other side of the balcony. He steps down the stone stairway that leads right into the garden and away from the festivity.  
  
“Where are you going?!” Donghae yells.  
  
“Escaping,” is the dismissive respond that Donghae gets back.  
  
He trots toward the top of the stairway and watches as Hyukjae keep getting further away. “It’s your party! You can’t just leave,” Donghae retorts.  
  
Hyukjae pulls stop and turns his head back. An eyebrow goes up. “Am I king or not,” he says and when Donghae makes a face at him, he smiles. “So are you going to join me or you’re planning to stand there all night long?” He holds a hand out to Donghae. “Come, my Belligo.”  
  
Donghae stares down at the hand offered to him and then looks back toward the party, behind the thick curtains, thinking of the people that cares nothing about him, who thinks nothing of him, and then once again back to the Hyukjae—the High King, who is his sworn enemy, the person who took him from his home and stole everything from him, the one whom had vowed to kill until the last breath he breathes and the one Donghae should feel be the least comfortable with but in this strange and foreign land, Hyukjae is the only face that Donghae recognizes and the only one Donghae finds himself constantly drawn to despite the animosity between them[4].  
  
It’s frustrating to be constantly pulled into Hyukjae’s orbit and get dragged into his pace but, “Ugh, I truly hate you,” Donghae yells in frustration and chases after Hyukjae.    
  
Hyukjae didn’t give Donghae a choice when he claimed Donghae as a consolation for war and even now when Hyukjae offers his hand to him, it doesn’t feel like a choice either. There never was a choice when it comes to Hyukjae, Donghae is only starting to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Or the trashy romance novel of my dream. Fill with political intrigue, drama, friends to enemies to friends to lovers, and revenge!


End file.
